


Chase You Like a Boy; Love You Like a Man

by ana_kl



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU: Mitch is in university, Edmonton Oilers, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Quarantine, Warning: Mentions of disordered eating/eating disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:24:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ana_kl/pseuds/ana_kl
Summary: Mitch has been assigned to work with the Edmonton Oilers for his master's in sports nutrition practicum. He's going to look after himself like the adult that he is, graduate, get a good job and most of all, he's going to be professional while doing all of it.
Relationships: Mitch Marner/Leon Draisaitl
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

In retrospect, Mitch should have taken action when he was fifteen and he'd lied to his parents in order to skip dinner for the first time by telling his mom that he'd already eaten at Connor's house. Technically, it was only a half lie -- Connor's mom had indeed made them blueberry muffins to fuel their post-hockey practice study session, but that didn't exactly qualify as a meal, especially not when that was two hours before Mitch returned to his own home. Or if not then, he should have been alarmed enough when, the day after his older brother's 24th birthday, he'd skipped breakfast and gone on a two hour run instead. There'd been cake the night before and he normally would pass on sweets, but his brother's girlfriend had made it and he'd been with family so of course he had to have a slice, but he had no idea how many calories were in it...

He should have reached out when he was still playing junior hockey and he had access to a team nutritionist, trainers and coaches. He'd made some of his best friends while on the team, Connor and Dylan in particular, and he knew that they wouldn't have judged him, would've been there to help in any way that they could. When he became less and less motivated to play hockey the year he finished high school, not because he wanted to get into a good university and focus on his schoolwork as he'd told his parents, but because the days he was eating properly and wasn't overexercising were becoming fewer and farther between, he should have done something. If not at all these times, then he should have been motivated to make a change when, in his last year as a sports science undergraduate at the University of Toronto, he'd finally gone to the doctor in tears, feeling like he was ruining his life and his body. All his blood work had come back normal except for some liver enzymes that were only slightly off, undoubtedly due to a recent two-day fast, broken by a midterm-graduating year stress induced chocolate feast the night before. The doctor had sent him for further testing and when those results came back fine, she'd reassured Mitch that it was far from too late, that he'd done nothing to his body that couldn't be undone, that they could work together to get the help he needed. But a week later, he'd wound up cancelling the appointments his doctor had set up with a dietitian and a psychiatrist because he still had to finish a term project and then he had a job interview and it had been a week that he'd been eating normally, so maybe it would be okay...

Only it wasn't. It hadn't been ok since he was fifteen. But there was always something holding him back from getting help or something blinding everyone around him to how much he needed it. His friends only saw him eat normally when he was around them; they didn't see him skip meals or get up before the sun to workout for hours in compensation. His coaches had no idea because he was visibly in shape and until he'd put hockey aside to go to university, he'd had just as much of a chance of making it to the NHL as Connor and Dylan. And his parents hadn't suspected anything because he always had a convincing excuse whenever he missed a meal, ate like everyone else at family gatherings, was a good student, played high-level hockey, so of course he was healthy, and he seemed to be doing everything he should in life... 

But if anything, he felt as though he was just lying to himself, in addition to everyone around him. And he was living the biggest lie now, in his last year of a two year _sports nutrition _master's program of all things, completing his practicum placement with the Edmonton Oilers. 

He'd been thrilled when his program coordinator had notified him that he got his first choice of placement with Edmonton's hockey team: for one thing, it meant that he'd get to spend a whole year with Connor, not having to wait until summer when Connor went back to Ontario to visit in order to see one of his best friends in person again. Most of all though, it was a fresh start, at least until Mitch graduated. He didn't have any bad memories in Ontario, wasn't trying to run away from anyone or anything. But maybe, a place of his own and an almost "real world job" was just what he needed to finally live the way he should be living. He'd felt so hopeful that he hadn't even felt guilty when his parents took him out for dinner to celebrate. 

And things had gone well the first few months. He had a routine -- wake up at 6 and have breakfast, then go to the gym an hour later before meeting up with the team's lead dietitian to go over his weekly assignments and check in. By the time he made it back to his apartment for the night, he was tired from a productive day and wound down by making himself dinner and lunch for the next day, following some of the same recipes he was regularly recommending to the players, then putting some time into the assignments he still had to submit online before going to bed. He Facetimed his parents a couple times a week, kept in touch with Dylan and hung out with Connor when the team was back home. He liked working with the team -- he had regular consultations with the individual players and they were all more like friends at this point than clients. They'd even asked him to join them for practice a few times, once they'd found out from Connor that he could've been an NHL draft pick, himself. 

Mitch Marner was going places. Had it all if he wanted it. But now he was seven months into his internship and maybe it was because he was a few months away from going back to Toronto to present his final dissertation, or because his stable, enriching schedule would change again in five months and he'd have to figure out what to do afterwards to get a job and pay the bills and put his life together, or a bunch of things all at once, but in those quieter moments at night, he was starting to feel the familiar, clenching and anxiety-inducing grip of the impulse to control everything. And since he couldn't control much else in his life, he concentrated all his efforts into the few things he felt he could -- what he was eating and his workouts. He wasn't skipping meals and he wasn't working out too much harder than his usual, but the thoughts were there and they were growing. Sometimes, it took all the energy he had to fend them off. He had to give it everything he had to not entertain thoughts about being the most unfit person in the room when he'd give the team briefings on pre-game and recovery nutrition. He had to consciously remind himself that he'd worked out that morning when, sitting at a desk for hours to make that week's meal plan, he felt that he should be going for run because he was just sitting around, undoubtedly _putting on weight_. And, especially as he lay in bed alone at night, without even the company of his beloved dog back home, he really had to fight to turn a blind eye to how hypocritical it really was that he was on his way to making a career out of telling people not to diet but to nourish their bodies, to view food as fuel for athletic performance, to choose nutrition over crash diets and even to be on the lookout for disordered eating patterns in clients when he himself seemed to have every problem in the book and couldn't do anything about it. 

Where was any of this going?

Mitch sighed as he closed a few windows on his laptop and opened a few more in preparation for the last Facetime call he had scheduled that evening, with Leon. The team was away for a game in Arizona and Mitch liked checking in with them when they were on the road, whether it was about making sure to stay hydrated, recovery nutrition or an "I'm really craving brownies, but we have a game tomorrow... do you have any recipes so they could be on program...?" call. And he always _really _liked talking to Leon because he and Mitch had clicked from the moment they met. Mitch definitely didn't feel like the extrovert he seemed to be with his easy, warm smile and ability to make conversation with just about anyone. But once he'd been properly introduced to Leon and the center turned out not to be intimidating like Mitch had first thought when he saw how tall, well-built and intense he was coming off the ice, it became as easy to talk to him as it was to talk to Connor and Dylan. And even then, being around Leon was a little...different. For one thing, Mitch had never caught himself thinking a little too much (or even at all) about Connor or Dylan's sharp jawline, about how standing next to them made him feel smaller in a good way, like he fit there, about how he liked the cologne they used and he was pretty sure that if either of them had a first language other than English, he probably wouldn't have spent a couple hours trying to Google-teach himself the basics the very day they'd had their first proper conversation. 

Maybe he was (definitely) attracted to Leon. And maybe it was (definitely) unprofessional, since he was there to complete his internship. And given that Leon seemed to enjoy talking to Mitch just as much as Mitch did to him, that Mitch had caught him staring at him a few times and that he always seemed a little softer and brighter whenever Mitch was around, maybe Leon (might?) be attracted to him too. On any other night, he might have thought about it a little more, might even have considered asking Connor if he knew anything or just been an adult and asked Leon himself, but his inner voice today was more keen on pointing out all the ways in which he'd never be good enough for someone like Leon and how he had way too many problems to possibly be fit for a relationship with anyone. Not to mention that he knew that there were still some very toxic perceptions in hockey culture and as much as it was the culture and not him that needed to change, he didn't want to complicate anything for Leon with his feelings. It was yet another thing that was stressing him out and making him feel more and more overwhelmed, but he had to pull it together because more than anything, he had professional duties to fulfill for his program and for the team. 

So he got up and poured himself a glass of water before sitting in front of his computer again, taking a deep breath and calling Leon. Sometimes, he'd get into a headspace in which it was overwhelming to talk to people, no matter who it was. He was arguably in such a state now. But he had a professional script to follow, a job to do and the whole point of being in this program was to help his clients. 

"Hey Leon," he smiled easily as their call connected. "How are you?"

Despite himself, he admittedly did feel better when Leon smiled at him from his end and started telling him how practice that day had gone, how he was feeling about the game they had the next day. 

"There's a place not far from the hotel where we can get pasta and some grilled chicken before the game tomorrow. I checked and the chicken's just got a herb rub, so it shouldn't be overloaded with sodium," Leon diligently reported and Mitch couldn't help but smile at how serious he sounded, not unlike a little kid explaining how he'd solved a math problem to his teacher. 

"Good," Mitch smiled. "And I know you know this already, but make sure you get something in after the game, too. At least a smoothie with some protein powder if you don't have time or don't really feel like eating." 

Leon nodded and smiled as Mitch ran through other options from the meal plans he'd designed, similar for the team, but he'd been fine-tuning them for each player's individual needs. 

"I do know, but I like having you remind me," he said, looking at Mitch softly again and yeah, definitely different from Connor's teasing "Thanks, Mom!" when Mitch had reviewed his nutrition plan with him a couple hours earlier. 

Mitch blushed and was thankful that Leon probably couldn't see his cheeks pinkening given the lighting and not so great resolution on his end. 

"Now that we've gone over business, how are you doing, Mitch?" Leon then asked. "You look really tired." 

Mitch was taken by surprise for a moment, not used to anyone noticing when he was off. He was always very good about keeping work and life separate and he panicked for a moment, thinking that he'd failed to keep things professional and maintain the upbeat persona he'd always kept up at work. He considered reassuring Leon that he was fine, but something about the genuine concern in Leon's expression and the worry in his tone made him want to at least momentarily take the hand that was being offered to him.

"Yeah... I haven't been sleeping much lately," Mitch admitted. "I'm kind of stuck on the last half of my thesis paper," he carried on, obviously omitting how he was also feeling completely incompetent at life in general and was worried that he was only a day away from undoing the healthy routine he'd held since he'd arrived in Edmonton. 

"What is it about?" Leon asked curiously. 

"The effects of micronutrient supplements and dietary intake on recovery from acute muscular injuries in elite athletes," Mitch recited, reasonably certain that he could also list the 42 articles he'd cited so far if Leon asked. 

"...No wonder you're stuck," Leon said after a moment, looking incredulous. "I wouldn't even be able to write the introduction to that." 

Mitch laughed, feeling lighter than he had in a while. His thesis was far from the only thing bothering him, but somehow, telling Leon about that at least made him feel a little better. 

Leon grinned, happy to see Mitch brighten a little. 

"Hey Mitch? You're always looking after us, but take care of yourself too, ok? Make sure you eat something if you haven't already and try to get some sleep. I know you're worried about your thesis, but you're so smart and if anyone can do it, it's you." 

Maybe it was how obvious it was that Leon cared about him, or how gentle his voice was, how he thought he was smart, or how he was telling him to eat when he hadn't planned to, but Mitch felt as though he was going to cry and he had to take a breath before he spoke again. 

"Thanks," he said quietly, hoping that Leon couldn't pick up the slight tremor in his voice. 

Leon looked like he was trying to read him for a moment and Mitch made a supreme effort to hold himself together. If he had anything more to say however, Leon decided not to push further. 

"If it's ok, can I call you tomorrow? Tell you about the game and you can make sure I'm eating on program, too," Leon said, sounding a little shy but hopeful. 

"Yeah," Mitch said, flushing as he realized he might have answered a little too quickly. "I-I'd like that and you don't even have to ask if you want to talk...just call," he continued before he could stop himself. 

He promptly started panicking because he was being _way too obvious_, but the way Leon lit up made it worth it a hundred times over. 

When they ended the call, Mitch still had at least 30 more pages of his thesis he'd still have to write and what felt like a million other problems, but he did eat because Leon had asked him to. 


	2. Chapter 2

The months passed, the hockey season continued and Mitch and Leon kept talking outside their scheduled consultation sessions, team briefings and group hang-outs with the other players. And Mitch had always found it easy to talk to Leon, but he was becoming hyperaware of the extent to which he loved telling Leon about his day, hearing about his, learning German from him, teaching him all the biochemistry that he was having to research for his thesis, talking about hockey, exchanging cat and dog videos... sharing everything. As much as their relationship was becoming... well, something, Mitch's own issues also were evolving. He felt increasingly stressed as deadlines mounted and destabilized as his awareness of the impermanence of everything he'd worked for and was working towards heightened. When it came to understanding other people and identifying their emotional needs, Mitch excelled. His sensitivity and the ease with which he adapted to anyone and any situation made him incredibly good at his job. Now, with only a couple months left of his internship, he'd become part of the Edmonton Oilers in everything but an official place on the roster, and even the most steely and seemingly unapproachable executives had taken to Mitch. Sure, he was one of Connor McDavid's best friends, but it had been his bright smile, openness and devotion to his job that had made him so popular with everyone. 

On the outside, Mitch really did seem to have such a promising future -- he was nearing the end of a successfully completed program, he'd had what could fairly be described as a world-class internship that would surely lead to a similar job and he might even be on the verge of a relationship with a man who was everything he'd never even realized he'd wanted in a partner. 

He had so much to be excited and hopeful about, but with each passing day and no matter who he was working with, he was having to make a herculean effort to get through. With his thesis still to complete, finals and other smaller papers too, time management became harder and something had to go. So daily workouts got cut out and with this loss of routine, structure or maybe even just the endorphins from a solid training session, Mitch's diet completely upended too and on a particularly bad night, he'd stood in the middle of his small kitchen and come to the stark, denuding realization that yes, he was a sports' nutrition intern working with an elite hockey team and yes, he was about to have a cup of coffee for dinner without having eaten anything but a banana the whole day. He was hardly exercising anymore and he didn't want to gain weight...

Neither his parents nor his brother had any idea that he wasn't doing very well. Just as it was easy to fall into his routine at work and talk and laugh with everyone, it was easy to tell his family that he was fine, that he was happy. A call home was about an hour or two a week and he was faking it eight hours a day, five days a week anyways. What difference did it make? 

On the weekends or Connor's days off, he had the convenient excuse that he couldn't hang out that week because he had coursework or he had to put out some job applications for when he graduated. And it wasn't untrue, only Connor didn't know that Mitch was spending most of his weekends staring at his assignments or at job postings that he was pretty sure he was underqualified for, despite everything he'd achieved.

Mitch had Connor and Dylan, and Connor and Dylan were great. They were the most supportive friends that he could ever have asked for and no matter how much publicity they got for hockey, they were still just themselves. But the reality was that they didn't -- couldn't -- understand Mitch's reality. They'd gone straight from high school to the NHL and with multi-million dollar contracts guaranteed, they'd never had to contend with what Mitch was facing. It wasn't that they weren't smart enough for school or that they couldn't make it in the "real world" if they tried. And especially now, having worked so closely with a team of professional hockey players, Mitch could appreciate the unique challenges they faced in needing to bring their best all the time to the gym and to the ice, having to deal with the media when all they wanted to do after a game was go home and rest, constant travel and worst of all, public criticism and merciless castigation on social media for something as ultimately trivial as losing a game. But constantly trying to survive from assignment to assignment while facing a bleak job market, no matter where he did his internship or how much education he had, and fighting himself just to eat and to stop thinking about how imperfect his physique was took a toll on Mitch, too.

He was young and really should be more optimistic about the future. His mom had told him how proud she was of him for going to university and his dad was confident that he'd find a job after he graduated, especially with such a high-profile placement, but one of Mitch's university friends had just celebrated the grand opening of her own training studio and someone he'd gone to high school with had his own place and had welcomed his first child... In the same way well-posed, edited and probably sponsored adventure/vacation/couple/career/domestic bliss photos were more salient in his Instagram feed than the pictures he had stored on his phone of his dog in his room at his parents house, Mitch could only focus on how inadequate he was feeling. He didn't want kids and he didn't necessarily want to have his own business, but he wanted to be happy. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had no idea what happiness even was to him. He wanted to be loved and he wanted to love himself, but he didn't know how.

And then there was Leon. 

Mitch had never been in a serious relationship before, or really, in a relationship in general. Before university, there had been hockey and school, and university was a world of its own. And there had always been his body image, food or self-esteem issues, whatever they were. He'd thought he'd been in love before, but nothing had ever worked out. Leon was the first time Mitch really wanted something to work, but this was also the first time he really doubted that he could ever have a relationship. There were just too many things wrong with him and there was no way that Leon, that anyone for that matter, would want a boyfriend who was struggling to take care of himself. Somewhere inside, he knew that relationships weren't linear: there was no formula of "love yourself first to learn how to love someone else" that took precedence. If anything, he just needed to understand himself and maybe that was exactly the problem -- he knew himself too well and he was too scared that he just wouldn't be enough. Day after day, Leon found it in himself to be determined, committed and motivated enough to train the way he did and step up as one of the best players in the league. Meanwhile, Mitch had barely finished a slice of toast at breakfast, knowing full well that he needed more but was unable to follow the most basic of the advice that he was being paid to give. Daily, he worried about his finances, about his classes, about not being able to find a job after he graduated and, as he spent more time with Leon, his heart broke a little more at the inevitable reality of parting ways once his internship ended. Mitch wasn't guaranteed to be able to find work in Edmonton, definitely couldn't live in Germany so early in his career and so, it was surely only a matter of time before Leon would move on. 

_Keep your personal and professional lives separate. _

Then the season was suspended, Mitch's internship was stalled and everything closed. 

And Mitch's life really seemed to fall apart. 

They'd all been taken off guard when, from one day to the next, they were told that the season was suspended, may even be cancelled entirely and they were asked to join the rest of the world in staying at home. At first, the sudden pressure and unpredictability seemed to kick things back into gear for Mitch. On his end, he had to quickly follow up with his university about his program, talk to his parents to ultimately go ahead with his decision to stay in Edmonton, not wanting to risk bringing anything home by going through airports and planes, and support the team. Understandably, everyone was jarred by the unforeseen turn that things had taken and everyone had always found it easy to talk to Mitch. Between checking in with his university, reassuring his parents that he was fine, staying in touch with all the players and making adjustments to their meal plans to support their fitness as their schedules were suddenly overturned, the momentum of having to balance everything and perform gave Mitch a steady rhythm. He had work to do and he had to get it done. And he had to stay calm, be optimistic and directive for everyone else. He even made time for an hour or so of yoga every morning. 

A month in however, he crashed and he felt worse than ever. He didn't understand his university's plans moving forward and he had no idea if he could even graduate that year. And even if he could, there was no way that he would be able to find a job, really anywhere in the world now. He was lucky enough that he had some financial support from his parents, but he couldn't rely on them forever. His body image deteriorated as he was completely without exercise at this point and the need to control a completely uncontrollable situation overwhelmed him. Since he was fifteen, it felt like his entire life had been a constant and nauseating start-stop-start again rhythm, trying to get his body to look like what he thought it should, trying to lose weight. And now, he felt like he was being pulled under by the need to emerge from this in better shape than ever, ready to get everything -- the job, the relationship, the reputation -- he'd now never felt more distant from in his life. He wanted nothing more than to completely avoid everyone, take advantage of the isolation to lie in the misery he somehow now felt he deserved. All over social media, he was reminded to accept his body, adapt to his circumstances, watch what he was eating, take time every day to exercise at home... his responsibility was to tell all the players to do the same. But he wasn't - couldn't - do the same himself and things deteriorated with every day. 

And of course, Leon had to call one afternoon on which Mitch was feeling his absolute worse, not for a consultation, but as a friend. Uncannily, Leon always seemed to know when Mitch was particularly stressed out, no matter how well he hid it even from Connor. 

Mitch almost didn't want to answer, even if it was Leon. He'd felt so anxious and really so unattractive; he hadn't slept well in a week and he knew it showed. Leon was the last person he wanted to see him like this. But he picked up anyways: as poorly as he was sure he looked, he knew that Leon would worry if he didn't pick up and technically, Leon was still his client, so he really shouldn't ignore him...

"Hey," he tried to smile as their call connected and Leon appeared on his phone's screen, as good-looking and fresh as ever. 

He should've just ignored the call and texted Leon later. 

"How are you? You look tired, Mäuschen," Leon said as he studied Mitch with concern. 

Mitch's (empty) stomach flipped weirdly, both from how disgusting he felt in just a dark grey hoodie and black sweatpants while Leon looked as though he'd effortlessly stepped out of a fashion magazine and with how obvious it was that Leon really cared about him. Leon had started calling him "Mäuschen" after Connor had shared with the whole team (of course) that Mitch's childhood nickname was "Mickey Mouse," a casualty of working with one of your best friends and his hockey team. But Leon, being Leon, genuinely thought it was cute and when it was just the two of them, he called Mitch his little mouse. It made Mitch blush and smile every time, especially since Leon showed him how to spell it and Google told him it could also be the equivalent of "honey" in English. 

"I'm ok," Mitch did his best to smile, but he could tell instantly that Leon wasn't convinced. "I just didn't get much sleep last night," he tried vainly.

Leon was always amazed by how Mitch always understood what he was trying to say, even when conversation was deeper and he knew exactly what he wanted to say in German but had to try his luck with Google translate. But Mitch found it more impressive that Leon always knew how he felt even when he didn't say anything or was trying to hide it. 

"Why not?" Leon prodded gently.

Mitch bit his lip, completely silent for a moment and to his horror, he realized that he was going to cry and as much as he didn't want to break down like this in front of Leon -- his _client _\-- the part of him that was so tired of fighting with himself all the time and feeling so alone really wanted to let Leon in. 

"Mitch? Hey... it's ok if you don't want to talk about it... I'm sorry," Leon leaned in, looking worried and like he wanted to reach through the screen to get to Mitch. 

Suddenly, it was all too much -- how worried he was about everything, how much he felt like a failure and how concerned Leon sounded. After a while, Connor and Dylan had noticed that something wasn't quite right and they'd also tried talking to him. Every time Mitch Facetimed either of them, he could tell that they were trying to figure out what was bothering him. But despite -- or perhaps because of -- the fact that they'd grown up together, Mitch managed to hide it from them. He couldn't from Leon though, especially not like this, when it was just the two of them and Mitch just felt broken and Leon was looking at him like that...

He started crying, not just a few tears, but the wrenching sobs that he'd been holding in for years, really. He kind of hated himself for breaking down in front of Leon like this, knowing it was beyond unprofessional on the one hand and that it was distressing for Leon that he was crying like this in front of him, virtually, and he couldn't even pull himself together long enough to explain to him why. He wasn't even sure if he knew why anymore, but he couldn't stop. 

"Oh shit... Mitch, I'm sorry..." Leon sounded a little frantic and Mitch felt so guilty because now Leon thought that he'd somehow made Mitch cry, but he just couldn't pull himself together. 

He heard some rustling on Leon's end and he couldn't even really look up, he just felt so distressed. He knew that Leon was far too nice to leave him when he was so upset, but he wondered if maybe he'd scared him off, if he'd come across as too unstable to do his job... and maybe he was. 

He calmed down a little, at least enough to look up, although he was definitely still crying and couldn't stop. And when he did look up, Leon was half back on the screen, but this time hurriedly adjusting a coat over his shoulders, his car keys in the other. 

"Do you think you'll be ok alone for a few minutes?...I know we're supposed to be distancing, but I really don't want to leave you alone right now, so I'm coming over. If it's ok?" Leon said, sounding at once firm in his resolve to make sure that Mitch was ok and a little shy that he was essentially inviting himself over, right in the middle of a pandemic, at that.

"L-Leon, you don't have to," Mitch managed, still crying although he was really trying to calm down at least enough to articulate properly. 

Leon smiled, still looking worried, but he slowed down for a moment, all his attention on Mitch. 

"Mäuschen, you're sad. I don't want to leave you alone when you're sad," Leon said simply. 

"...Thanks," Mitch managed a trembling smile that he was pretty sure looked pathetic. 

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Leon smiled back. 

Mitch was sure he looked even worse than he did when Leon first called and he wondered if there was anything he could do to make himself look a bit more presentable. But he was still crying, even if not as hard as before, and Leon had already just seen him at his worst, so what difference did it really make? 

He did splash some cold water over his face and fixed his hair a little before heading down to the apartment lobby to let Leon in in person. But he wondered what good it had even done because the tears he'd just washed away started falling again as he took the elevator down and realized how run down the apartment he was living in really was and how, with the economy and the future heading the way it was, he might not even be able to afford even that after/if he graduated. Maybe he was awfulizing a little -- he knew that if it really came to that, neither his parents nor his brother would ever let him be homeless -- but he was an adult. He should be able to do more with his life. Hell, he should be doing more now...

He spent the next ten minutes pacing the empty lobby, not even sure what was going on anymore because Leon wasn't -- _no one_ \-- was supposed to know how much he was struggling. And he knew that Leon wasn't the type to look down on or judge anyone, but really, what would a professional athlete, especially one of such a high level, think about eating disorders? About the fact that he just couldn't seem to motivate himself to care about his body? 

Mitch was starting to get nervous as he waited, but just as he was once again regretting that he'd answered Leon's call at that moment and had lost control over his emotions, Leon was there outside the building, giving him a shy wave. 

As Mitch opened the door, still not sure how this was going to go or what he should even say, Leon moved forward to hug him, then caught himself and quickly stepped back, looking very shy and self-conscious for a man who'd just driven fifteen minutes across town to make sure Mitch was ok. 

"Sorry... I'm sure I'm not sick... I guess I can't say that for sure? I haven't gone out since we got called back except for groceries and stuff, but I can just stay out here if you're more comfortable --"

Mitch closed the distance between them and threw his arms around Leon, the taller man immediately reciprocating his embrace, only vaguely registering that it had been longer than two weeks since he'd gone out for any groceries, himself. It had been so long since he'd hugged anyone and to be in Leon's arms... Mitch still felt devastated and overwhelmed but for a moment, it seemed like things really would be ok. 

"Thanks. For coming. F-For caring about me," Mitch said quietly, still feeling like he had tears to cry. 

"Of course, Mäuschen," Leon said softly, pulling Mitch a little closer.

They went up to Mitch's flat and the whole time, Leon kept an arm around Mitch's waist, holding him close and cuddling him as they took the elevator up, Mitch suddenly feeling so tired and emotionally drained that he just leaned against Leon's shoulder without much thought. Even when they were washing their hands at Mitch's kitchen sink, they barely separated and Mitch had never been more grateful for how grounded Leon made him feel, even though he didn't know about everything that Mitch was dealing with yet. 

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Leon said gently, still feeling a little guilty about pushing himself into Mitch's space, but he really couldn't just sit there while Mitch was crying so much and he couldn't do anything about it. 

"I..." Mitch started, intending to tell Leon that he wanted to, or that he at least wanted to try. "I think I have an eating disorder," was what came out instead. 

He blushed, feeling his heart pound in his chest and tears well in his eyes again as he realized what he'd just said. Of all possible reactions however, he wasn't prepared for Leon to hug him as though he was made of porcelain, silently inviting him to look up, reassuring him that it was ok. 

"I'm so sorry Mäuschen... that must be so hard to deal with and you have school and everything too. One of my sister's friends had an eating disorder; I know it's hard and I can't imagine what you're going through," he continued, gently rubbing Mitch's back. 

Mitch felt himself relax a little as Leon kept talking and that evening, half on Leon's lap and in the reassuring safety of his arms, Mitch wound up telling him everything. How things had started when he was fifteen, how his out of control restriction and exercising were the real reasons why he'd quit playing hockey, how he felt as though he was lying every single day to Connor, Dylan, Leon, his family, his university, all of them and how even now, when things were worse than ever and it was more important than ever for him to face reality and be resilient, he felt as though he was moving through every day unconsciously and seeing only all the things he needed to change but never could.

He was in tears again by the time he finished, only this time, Leon was there. Leon was holding him and telling him how strong he thought he was, how he would've never known that he was dealing with all this but that he didn't have to deal with it alone anymore, because he would be there for him if he wanted him to be. And when Mitch had calmed down a little, really tired now from finally telling someone everything, from barely eating that day, from all his worries, Leon asked him if he wanted to move in with him. 

"Like just for this whole quarantine thing, not that you couldn't stay longer if you wanted to...!" He rambled a little nervously, blushing the way he only ever seemed to around Mitch. "And I completely understand if you want to stay at your place, but you said it gets worse when you're by yourself, so maybe I can at least come by every few days and check on you? ...And it wouldn't be just for that either; I like having you around and I miss you..." 

Despite the fact that he'd spent the last couple hours crying, Mitch couldn't help smiling, feeling genuinely lighter. With him, Leon was far from the silent stoicism he projected during interviews and whenever hockey was concerned. And he liked (loved?) both Leons, now more than ever. 

Mitch accepted, so thankful that someone really cared about him that much, that he maybe wasn't alone in this anymore and maybe, if they'd discussed their feelings or made sense of special, intimate understanding they'd seemed to have of each other from the moment they really met, they might have shared their first kiss together after they'd loaded the couple suitcases Mitch had quickly thrown together in Leon's car. For now though, it was just enough for Mitch that Leon knew, that he didn't think Mitch was a hopeless case, that he'd taken one of Mitch's hands in one of his as he drove them back to his place and didn't let go until he'd given Mitch a tour of his house, leaving him to settle in. 


End file.
